


all things in time

by loveclouds



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Reverse Chronology, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9469136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveclouds/pseuds/loveclouds
Summary: 5 moments in Iwaizumi and Oikawa's lives together, the easy and the hard.





	

\---

 

5.

 

Kageyama shuffles his feet awkwardly over the plush hallway carpet, a tad anxious to be visiting Oikawa at home. While they certainly aren’t on _bad_ terms, it still feels like there’s something of a wall between them, and he can’t shake the mental constraints of their senpai-kouhai relationship no matter how much Iwaizumi-san has told him that continuing to gift Oikawa with the deferential honor of senpai will only turn him into a shittier person than he already is. 

 

It sure is taking a while to open the door. He can hear Oikawa’s laughter, muffled and gleeful, paused between low, unintelligible murmurs he can only assume to be Iwaizumi. 

 

For the millionth time, Kageyama turns over the envelope in his hands, containing their updated training schedule for the next month. Oikawa has been on the mend for a slight ankle sprain for the past three days and despite the schedule being emailed to everyone on the team, Oikawa had still insisted on getting a paper copy. 

 

Which he said he couldn’t pick up himself, due to fear of aggravating his sprain. 

 

Which he also said he couldn’t have Iwaizumi pick up, because Iwaizumi was very busy with work and he would throw himself into fast-moving traffic before inconveniencing him. 

 

Which he also suggested Kageyama deliver to him, because by that time in the phone conversation, their coach looked like he was about to have a stroke. 

 

To which the entire team quietly snickered and quickly disbanded, because no one wanted to be around to suffer Coach’s Oikawa-induced rage outbursts, or have Oikawa inflicted upon them when he’s home and cozied up with Iwaizumi. Kageyama can’t imagine why; he’s known both of them for much longer than the rest of the team has, and even though he’s always been aware of the fondness between them, Oikawa has never seemed very different even in the near-decade since he graduated from Seijou. 

 

Volleyball is still volleyball, Oikawa is still his senpai on the court and off, and Kageyama still doesn’t understand how Oikawa murders his serves quite the way he does. He really does have such admiration for Oikawa. It seems incredible that Oikawa was recruited for the national team when he was only two semesters into his first year at university. It seems even more incredible that Oikawa had played in his first Olympics while Kageyama was still trying to remember the exact layout of campus. It’s not that he was following in Oikawa’s footsteps--they just both had dreams to be the best, and that had happened to take them to the same places. 

 

“Oi!! You idiot, put on some fucking--”

 

The sound of hurried footsteps snaps Kageyama out of it and his spine straightens on instinct, already halfway into a bow when the warm cedar door swings open. Out of habit, Kageyama’s eyes fly to Oikawa’s ankle, too used to checking for injury, then blinks rapidly when he realizes his eyes are scraping down a whole length of bare leg. 

 

“My, _my_ , Tobio-chan!” Oikawa sings, and Kageyama straightens again, eyes the shape of dinner plates. “Are you that glad to see me?”

 

“Oikawa-san,” Kageyama says, mouth a desert. Why is Oikawa wearing nothing but a rumpled dress shirt? The upper buttons aren’t even buttoned. Is he supposed to comment on it? “Have you...misplaced your pants?” he asks in concern, and Oikawa’s mouth drops open. 

 

“...Tobio-chan...are you an alien?”

 

Wait...is that a blush? No...is that sex flush?? Kageyama’s perfect vision assesses the glow on Oikawa’s nonplussed face before going back to the bareness of his legs, a whole lot of long legs on display, the hem of his shirt only barely skimming his upper thighs to keep him decent. Certainly, Oikawa had requested the paper copy of their training schedule, and not a pair of pants? Kageyama couldn’t have misheard that badly, right?

 

“How do you even safely cross the street from day to day?” Oikawa asks, plucking the envelope from Kageyama’s hands, now a little crumpled and sweaty. “Thanks for this, Tobio-chan! I would invite you in but I don’t really--”

 

Iwaizumi skids into the doorway looking just as rumpled as Oikawa, but at least he has pants on. Kageyama is really glad that their apartment wasn’t burgled of all pants. “Shittykawa, you are so rude!” he scolds, smacking Oikawa on the back of the head. “Thanks for coming all this way, Kageyama. Would you like to come in for a drink or a snack?”

 

“Iwa-chan!! You can’t hit me while I’m injured!”

 

“Ignore him, he’s being especially shitty today,” Iwaizumi says, doing his best to shove Oikawa out of the doorway. 

 

“Um, it’s okay, I have to go anyway,” Kageyama supplies. He’s not always the brightest bulb but he has the social etiquette prowess to know that he shouldn’t enter anyone’s apartment during any state of undress.

 

“Yeah, Iwa-chan! You can’t just invite people willy-nilly into my apartment whenever--”

 

“ _Our_ apartment--”

 

“I get to dictate rules because I’m taller.”

 

“You’re truly being such a piece of shit right now.”

 

Oikawa tries to close the door in Kageyama’s face and Iwaizumi repeats what a shitty guy he is, prying the door open through sheer force. Oikawa grins at him and tries to close the door a little harder and Iwaizumi slams his hand against the laminated wood, half-trapping Oikawa against it. It’s not doing a very good job at threatening if Oikawa is smiling like that, though. 

 

Kageyama patiently endures all of this, staring at the thin, golden band glittering on Iwaizumi’s left hand. Oh, perhaps that’s something he should be commenting on!

 

He doesn’t get a chance to even start inquiring about how Oikawa keeps his ring on during matches before Oikawa jabs Iwaizumi in the gut in a literal low blow and pretty much kicks him out of the way. He flashes Kageyama a very familiar, very knowing grin. “Would you like to come in for--”

 

“I really must be going,” Kageyama blurts out, and closes the door on himself for them, yanking decidedly on the doorknob just in case Oikawa changes his mind and he really is forced to go inside.

 

A small part of him wants to die. At least now he knows why none of the team wanted to come here. Oikawa is still very Oikawa at home, all the elements of him still right there, but he’s so much _brighter_ here. It was hard for Kageyama to really look at him. And not just because he wasn’t wearing pants.

 

“That was rude, Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi barks on the other side of the door, followed by Oikawa’s delighted laughter and a series of thumps that sounds like they’ve both fallen on the floor. “You definitely told me he wouldn’t be here for another hour!!”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t believe me all the time, hm?”

 

“I have so many doubts about you as a person.”

 

“Your doubts don’t extend to me keeping my pants on, though?”

 

Kageyama’s face burns a thousand degrees, more than content to escape once he hears Oikawa suddenly yelling with laughter, presumably getting tickled within an inch of his life. He wonders if he’s ever heard Oikawa laugh like that before, loud and open, like he doesn’t care about anything else. 

 

Is practice next week going to be awkward?

 

\---

 

4.

 

Oikawa is usually a good sport about birthdays, somehow so incredibly vain that his vanity exceeds the insecurity of worrying about aging and comes full circle, giving him the invincible pride of liking the way he looks no matter where he is in life. Well, he’s only twenty-four, still as young as anyone would define youth, at the peak of his prime. 

 

He’s just being insufferable this year because the Olympics are in less than a month. It’s the one that counts if only because Japan had failed to medal the last time he’d been there with the national team. No one thought it surprising despite the disappointment, and it’s not as if they had expected Oikawa to carry the team in his very first Olympics attendance, especially not as a tender third-year university student. He’d been pardoned from enough tests and lectures that it was never homework keeping Oikawa up at night, but he did still have his time and duties split between the court and the classroom. 

 

Back then, they hadn’t been living together either, and though Iwaizumi has literally begged Oikawa to be the one he turns to in times of stress, it doesn’t make Oikawa any less insufferable now. Genius leaves Oikawa teetering constantly between boredom and madness and not even Iwaizumi is enough of an outlet, not when there’s soon to be lights and a court and millions of eyes watching Oikawa rule it.

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa mumbles into his shoulder, undoubtedly another complaint about to follow. 

 

Iwaizumi sighs. Still, he pulls Oikawa tighter into his chest, curving his spine until they’re huddled together like lovers sharing secrets, lips pressed to Oikawa’s temple.

 

“My back hurts. Can you give me another massage?”

 

“Yeah, of course. Lie down.”

 

Iwaizumi watches Oikawa struggle out of his shirt, eagerly flopping onto his belly. Oikawa’s back likely doesn’t hurt. It’s probably his right hip if anything, just a slight strain to it that Iwaizumi had noticed in the last couple of days. Oikawa has been on the border of over-training again but so has everyone else, eating heartier, laughing less, a build-up of titanium willpower in their eyes. It’s probably also the only time Iwaizumi has truly seen Oikawa give heartfelt advice and compliments to Kageyama when Kageyama does something incredible, and he’s rather proud of Oikawa for coming this far.

 

Silently smiling to himself, Iwaizumi straddles Oikawa’s lower back, hands already kneading into the tense muscles of Oikawa’s shoulders. It’s relaxing for both of them to do this, for Iwaizumi to not feel so helpless and for Oikawa to feel really cared about.

 

“Iwa-chan...” Oikawa mumbles, trailing off in a whine. He tenses when Iwaizumi works into a particularly nasty knot, groaning and squirming before he melts again, fingers clenched in their sheets. 

 

Doing his best not to be obvious, Iwaizumi works his way down, thumbs pressing along the sides of Oikawa’s curved spine, wanting to check out his hip. He’s getting adequately distracted though, unable to help bringing his lips to follow his fingers, open-mouthed kisses to the warm skin of Oikawa’s back. He sucks a welt into the sexy, fleshy dip beside his waist, nose skimming against his skin. Iwaizumi attentively listens to the quiet gasps Oikawa is trying to stifle into a pillow.

 

“Iwa-chan...” Oikawa mumbles again, but it’s a lot different now, strained with urgency. He bows his back, an attempt to sit up, but Iwaizumi lays a hand flat between his shoulderblades and pushes him back down. He’s using his mouth more than his hands now, languid, wet kisses sucked down to Oikawa’s tailbone.

 

That’s as far as he lets himself go before he’s got a hand gently gripped around Oikawa’s right hip, giving it an experimental squeeze. 

 

“That kinda hurts,” Oikawa meekly complains, having long since caught on to what Iwaizumi was planning. “It’ll be fine after a hot bath, I promise.”

 

“No offense, but I really only believe about half the things you say when you’re this anxious.”

 

“Iwa-chan, how am I not supposed to be offended by that?” Oikawa whines immediately, reaching behind himself, flailing until he’s got a grip around Iwaizumi’s arm. He pinches him for good measure. “You know I don’t lie to you!”

 

“Maybe you believe that,” Iwaizumi replies, “but considering I know how you get, it looks like I’m not really going to be listening to you until next month is over and done with.” He softens his grip a notch, rhythmically working his thumb in wide circles, watching for any signs of pain. Nothing feels out of place. There’s no swelling, no hard lumps, and Oikawa isn’t showing that it feels much more than sore. He probably just landed awkwardly and twisted it a little--it’s a constant cycle of worry and relief, being with a professional athlete. 

 

There are a few minutes of peace and Iwaizumi is actually quite content when Oikawa startles him with a guilty, quiet apology.

 

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan. Thank you for always being with me,” he says, heavy and serious. 

 

Iwaizumi stiffens. He knows exactly what Oikawa is thinking about. “It’s in the past, I don’t want you to keep apologizing. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

 

“Yeah, I know. Still.”

 

Iwaizumi sighs again, working at Oikawa’s hip for another handful of minutes before he stretches himself over Oikawa’s back, caging him in. He takes a deep breath, feels his front press seamlessly along every inch of Oikawa’s body and the responding exhale as Oikawa tries to mold back into him. 

 

“How are you feeling?” Iwaizumi whispers, weighing him down, lips right against Oikawa’s ear. He closes his teeth around an earlobe, a gentle bite, bodily absorbing the hard shiver that snakes down Oikawa’s spine.

 

Oikawa angles his stomach into the mattress, pushing his ass back into the cradle of Iwaizumi’s hips. “Like I really, really love you,” he breathes, struggling not to let unhappier memories creep into his mind. He’s anxious enough as it is; he doesn’t need anything else to add to his insomnia. 

 

As if sensing his unease, Iwaizumi moves his mouth to the side of Oikawa’s neck, noisy kisses making Oikawa squirm beneath him. He runs his fingers down the side of Oikawa’s ribs, then under his belly, scratching his nails along Oikawa’s abs before his fingers disappear easily into his sweatpants. “How much do you love me?” he asks, and Oikawa gives him a quiet cry in response, skin tingling at the gravel of Iwaizumi’s voice.

 

His hips jerk instinctively, seeking better friction. He needs Iwaizumi a lot closer. “I want to kiss,” Oikawa gasps, cheeks burning at the request. He’s not embarrassed to ask for what he wants anymore but it always makes him shy to be so vulnerable. Maybe that’s a testament to the comfort that Iwaizumi provides, that Oikawa has long since abandoned risk-aversion analyses when it comes to him.

 

With a growl that makes Oikawa’s thighs clench together, Iwaizumi gets off of him and grabs him by the hips, flipping him so fast that Oikawa’s vision spins. He’s back on top of him in the space of a single breath, and then Oikawa is being kissed until he can’t breathe, short, needy moans trapped in the back of his throat.

 

Iwaizumi’s tongue runs along his lower lip, hot and teasing, and Oikawa opens his mouth eagerly, a drawn-out moan muffled between them. He tastes the inside of Iwaizumi’s mouth greedily, impatiently. His hands are slow as they glide up the muscular planes of Iwaizumi’s back, wandering and touching all that he lays claim to. Oikawa arches upward this time, seeking contact, and Iwaizumi immediately settles back into the inviting v of Oikawa’s legs, quickly wrapped between Oikawa’s soft thighs.

 

“Tooru, tell me how much you love me,” Iwaizumi repeats against his lips, and Oikawa rolls his eyes even as he fights a huge smile. He leans in and gives Iwaizumi a teasing, quick kiss, followed by a handful more, his fingers already tugging at the waistband of Iwaizumi’s pajama bottoms. 

 

“If you’re the supposed smart one, how come you don’t know?” he demands, light and playful. Is love really so easy? Some kisses and Oikawa doesn’t even remember what he was feeling so uneasy about before, the concept of negative emotions so alien to him right now. Then again, he always feels better to have 100% of Iwaizumi’s undivided, adoring attention, and he thinks it’s only fair he gets as much of this as he wants when it’s his birthday week. 

 

“I never said I was smart, only that I was smarter than you,” Iwaizumi reasons. He lets Oikawa manhandle him as he wishes, stripped faster than he can imagine, but before anything else, he reaches for Oikawa’s left hand, pressing a kiss to the backs of his fingers. “See?” he says, running his thumb over the golden band on his ring finger, “you were dumb enough to say yes to me.”

 

“Idiot,” Oikawa says, scowling only because he’s worried about the sudden, burning tingle high up in his nose. He wants to have sex, not cry. “That means I’m the smartest guy in the universe because I somehow got you to ask. Talk about trying to use brain cells you don’t have.”

 

 _I’m going to win this time, but not for me, for you,_ he doesn’t say, but Iwaizumi kisses him like he understands, anyway.

 

\---

 

3.

 

The most frustrating part of loss is not knowing what went wrong, when he was so sure he was doing everything right. The distance between Iwaizumi and Oikawa has only ever been a matter of looking over to see if the other one was there, too much shared time between them for their paces to ever grow out of sync. 

 

That stubborn, naive belief, that it’s ever okay to stop fighting for it and working at it, is probably what landed Iwaizumi here in the first place. 

 

It’s obvious when Oikawa is pulling away from him. It’s happened before--as kids after a fistfight about something dumb, as emotional teenagers after a noisy, scathing fight about something still dumb, as young adults after wordless, soundless fights about something too complex to articulate. But they’ve also always found their way back to each other, sooner rather than later, no more than a week or two of strain before everyone would go back to teasing them about being married. 

 

It’s the natural course of things, it’s the way that they should be. Iwaizumi has no experience or knowledge of what to do when things don’t naturally snap back into place themselves.

 

Of course Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa took his first Olympics loss hard. They all took it hard, they all wore devastation on their faces. He had been there on the plane back to Tokyo, clutching Oikawa’s hand under a pile of blankets in their laps, and he hadn’t bothered to pretend like things were okay whenever Oikawa did look at him, eyes dull and cheeks blotchy from crying. Even then, Iwaizumi had thought him beautiful, this big, dumb, graceful wonder of a man, so hard to reconcile with the snotty crybaby he used to take care of on ambitious adventures in Miyagi’s countryside. 

 

“I believe in everyone on the team,” Oikawa had said, looking out of the small airplane window, watching the sun set.

 

“And they all believe in you,” Iwaizumi had replied, tightening his grip.

 

“I know. But Iwa-chan...you know? I don’t think I believe in myself anymore.”

 

He hadn’t offered empty platitudes--Oikawa hates to hear them. He hadn’t gone on angry motivational speeches--Oikawa doesn’t take them to heart. Iwaizumi didn’t know what to say to make it better. He still remembers the disbelief of losing to Karasuno when he was so determined to win, the last time that he and Oikawa had really played a match together before splintering their paths for the future. That isn’t a feeling that can be taken away with verbal reassurances or vague promises of the future. Nothing soothes the burn of loss except victory, and Oikawa won’t get another chance at that for four more years. 

 

So Iwaizumi had fully expected Oikawa to be volatile, quiet, angry, and punishing to himself once they got back. He weathered that summer with patience and understanding, none of his usual teasing or harsh words whenever Oikawa would try and pick a fight. 

 

He visited Oikawa’s apartment almost every day, sleeping over half the time even though it was n awful, crowded commute across the city to get to his morning classes. 

 

He held Oikawa as close as he could that winter with as much gentle reassurance as he knew how to give. He’d done his best not to take it personally when Oikawa would push him away, make excuses to be alone with that fake smile on his face that Iwaizumi could no longer parse. 

 

School, Oikawa, snatches of not enough sleep; Iwaizumi’s life had been simple, but painfully hard to understand. 

 

School, gym, school, gym; Oikawa’s life had condensed to nothing but volleyball, and it killed him to not know where Iwaizumi fit into it. 

 

In the slowly warming Spring of their last year of university, Iwaizumi makes up his mind. There’s no time limit to grief and Oikawa is entitled to as much of it as he wants, but Iwaizumi can’t leave him alone to do it. Even if Oikawa wants to focus on volleyball more than sleeping or eating or even breathing, Iwaizumi will have to appoint himself to be there with him, welcome or not, because that’s what best friends do. That’s what lovers do.

 

They used to talk a lot about moving in together after university. Since coming back from the Olympics, Oikawa has dodged the topic whenever it would come up. It’s not a comfortable endeavor to have a one-way conversation but it’s important, and Iwaizumi needs to know.

 

As the months pass and their university graduation looms closer, Iwaizumi stubbornly remains at Oikawa’s side. He’s come to learn that being supportive and clinging don’t have such different definitions in his dictionary, but he’s already too far gone to be embarrassed. They’ve had a few short talks about getting an apartment together but nothing too concrete, although Iwaizumi has walked in on Oikawa fiddling around on his laptop before, some apartment listings pulled up for comparison. 

 

He can’t understand why Oikawa seems so resistant to talking to him about it but Oikawa is looking on his own, and he still melts into goodnight kisses, and he still stares at Iwaizumi whenever he thinks Iwaizumi isn’t paying attention, maybe more so than before. He’s an idiot for thinking that, though; Iwaizumi isn’t ever not paying attention to Oikawa. 

 

As summer fades away into winter and Iwaizumi starts sloughing through stiff, agitating job interviews, he goes out and buys a pair of rings. It’s just a simple band, not like he’s asking Oikawa to marry him or something, affordable sterling silver with nothing in the way of design.

 

Still, he’s inexplicably nervous. Oikawa’s gotten much better since the initial impact of the Olympics loss, even if he’s been guarded and occasionally distant. His training regimen is really too difficult but Iwaizumi somehow feels like he can’t find the timing to object. 

 

A week before Christmas, caught up in schoolwork and interviews and dragging Oikawa out to see some winter illuminations around the city, Iwaizumi decides to bite the bullet. 

 

He lets himself into Oikawa’s apartment like he has been for the past year of his life, neatly lining his shoes up in the _genkan._ He’s been much more careful lately, maybe over-aware and sensitive to the undercurrent of strain in their relationship. 

 

Shaking the thoughts off, he goes to the small, tidy kitchen with his bag of groceries. Potatoes, carrots, onions, beef; an easy, filling combination for _nikujaga_ , something to warm both of them up. He sets a milk bread on the dining table in advance, ignoring the way Hanamaki’s voice is cackling in his head. Now that he’s older, he recognizes his behavior for what it is: spoiling Oikawa however he can. In high school, Hanamaki had told him so, but Iwaizumi was still so preoccupied then with calling it casual best friend obligation, though no one obliged him to do any such thing.

 

The thought makes him smile and a little nostalgic for the past. Things had been really easy then, even though their days were filled with so many other considerations. Strange, how most of it doesn’t cross his mind anymore. 

 

Strange, how Oikawa is all he wants and hates to think about. 

 

He’s just setting everything on the table when Oikawa comes home, thick scarf suffocating him up to the eyes. Iwaizumi had gotten it for him last Christmas and Oikawa hasn’t used another scarf since. 

 

“Welcome home,” Iwaizumi greets, waving him over for dinner. 

 

He’s not a great cook. He’s decent, but Oikawa’s always been the better chef between them. It’s been a while since the last time Oikawa’s gotten his hands dirty and they spent a whole weekend experimenting with ridiculous online recipes, but Iwaizumi is looking forward to doing a lot more of it once they move in together. It’s not a band-aid for the relationship and he’s not being overly optimistic; Iwaizumi really does think that starting together somewhere new will give Oikawa some of his confidence back.

 

They make smalltalk over dinner, nothing too serious. Oikawa keeps shooting him looks between compliments because Iwaizumi is clearly not paying attention, knee bouncing anxiously under the table. 

 

As Oikawa does dishes, Iwaizumi goes to get a few flyers for apartments and both of the rings, unadorned by even a box. He sets them on the kitchen table, agonizing over how to broach the subject, and it’s really not like he’s asking Oikawa to marry him, he just wants to show how serious and secretly sentimental he apparently is. How frustrating. Maybe if he says--

 

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, voice tiny, and Iwaizumi startles guiltily, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. But that’s ridiculous. 

 

“Yeah, I...” he starts off, placing a hand on the table, over the apartment layouts. He shifts restlessly from foot to foot, watching Oikawa’s eyes make the same triangle between his face, the rings, and the papers. “So, I figured our leases would be up soon, and we should get a place, and I got us some...uh, rings.”

 

“Rings,” Oikawa repeats, and Iwaizumi’s confidence flees from him as Oikawa’s mouth pulls into a tight line.

 

“I’m not asking you to get married or anything,” he blurts out, heart hammering in his throat. His stomach is in knots. This really isn’t how he hoped Oikawa would react. “I just figured we’ve been together all this time and I want to be with you for a lot more time, so why not, right?” That sounds stupid. “And the apartment- well, these are just a few I checked out that might suit us, so we can look through them. If you want.”

 

He trails off into a thick, terrible silence. His skin feels too tight around his own bones. Iwaizumi chances a look at Oikawa’s face and he wonders why he can no longer read that expression, if it’s meant to be regret or pity or fear. 

 

“I don’t know, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says uncertainly, twisting his hands together. He walks closer to the table and Iwaizumi is suddenly glad that it’s there to keep some physical distance between them, because the closer Oikawa gets, the more uncertain he looks, and how can he take that as anything but personal?

 

“Don’t know about what?”

 

“I don’t know if moving in together is really the best thing to do...” He must realize how awful that sounds though, after a homemade meal, after years of being together, because Oikawa waves a hand in front of his chest immediately, shaking his head. “Only- only because of volleyball,” he adds quickly, “and my training schedule, I mean, you’ve seen how it is. And I’m--” he thinks about the words very carefully, as Iwaizumi stares at him. “I know I haven’t been very good to you lately,” he finishes in a heaving sigh, and he looks down at the table again, eyes on the shining, simple, beautiful rings.

 

“I don’t expect life to always be easy,” Iwaizumi responds, when it looks like Oikawa runs out of words to express himself. “We’ll have ups and downs and seasons in our lives like everyone else. I’ve been happy to be here for you when you don’t feel good. Or do you mean to say you just don’t want to try this with me anymore?”

 

“ _No_!!” Oikawa runs a hand through his hair in frustration, expression twisted with it. “No, of course not. I mean that- Iwa-chan, I have to get better, you know? And next time, I want to win!”

 

“I know that, too!”

 

“So I have to practice more and get stronger!” Oikawa pleads with him, desperately wanting Iwaizumi to understand. “I can’t- you’re _not_ a distraction, I just can’t be very good to you when I have such little time. I don’t want you to feel lonely or--”

 

“Then you’d rather we break up,” Iwaizumi asks, listless and flat. What else is he supposed to take from Oikawa’s words? It’s confusing watching the blood drain from Oikawa’s face. His eyes get glassy, an instant sheen of tears that Iwaizumi finds incredibly unfair.

 

“No, of course not,” Oikawa chokes, hoarse. He can’t breathe around the pain in his chest, radiating out to numb his fingers and toes.

 

“Then you want me to do what? Keep coming to your apartment every day and stay away when it’s convenient for you? Wait until you think you’ve won enough medals?”

 

Oikawa goes very still. He’s been confused for long enough as it is and he can’t sacrifice anything of what he wants, either. Maybe that’s why he’s made Iwaizumi so angry. Oikawa doesn’t even know exactly what he wants, except Iwaizumi, except a gold medal or five, but those things don’t seem to mesh. 

 

“I definitely don’t want to break up,” he repeats, firm and sure despite his terror. “You’re being unfair, Iwa-chan. I want to be with you, you know that.”

 

“But I don’t know that.” Iwaizumi lets the fight drain from his spine, his shoulders slumping. “I come stay over almost every day anyway. I thought you’d be happy to be together.”

 

“I would! Just right now, until the next- Maybe- maybe if you give me some more time?”

 

“How much time?”

 

Oikawa stifles a scream in his throat. Iwaizumi won’t drop it and he doesn’t blame him, but he doesn’t have these answers. “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “Until I’m good enough.”

 

“You _are_ good enough, Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, giving him a helpless, bitter smile. “You never listen to me when it matters. But fine, if your career is really more important than I am, you don’t have to accept any of this.” Which isn’t what he really means, because that’s an unfair and cruel thing to say, but he can’t help that that’s how it feels. 

 

He’s aware that these are some of the deepest insecurities that Oikawa holds. The fight visibly goes out of him, like Iwaizumi just punched the wind from Oikawa’s sails with a cheat fist to the gut. 

 

“This is everything I can offer you,” Iwaizumi says, taking a step back from the rings and the apartment plans. He loves him but he’s also very hurt, livid that after so many years together, Oikawa would still try to pull this shit with him. Maybe Oikawa thinks that keeping him at arm’s length is altruism, or kindness, or some twisted consideration of Iwaizumi’s feelings that Iwaizumi can reason out in his head but can’t feel in his heart. He hasn’t minded a single day of the past year of being here to provide comfort when Oikawa needed it. He knows a day will come when he’s in a slump himself, maybe work or family or just life, and Oikawa would do the very same for him. But if Oikawa doesn’t believe in it, what can Iwaizumi do to convince him? “I’m going to go for a walk to clear my head. For an hour. You can do whatever you want.”

 

“Iwa-chan, wait, please,” Oikawa says, but Iwaizumi can’t stay. He can’t stand the doubt on Oikawa’s face, or the embarrassment of the rings on the table, unspoken rejection burning a hole through his pride.

 

He doesn’t slam the door childishly on his way out. He doesn’t burst into tears. He trudges down the stairs without seeing anything, in a state of shocked numbness. It’s bitingly cold and he didn’t bring his scarf. Iwaizumi shrinks in on himself some more, dazed and hurt as he wanders aimlessly in Oikawa’s neighborhood. That hadn’t gone the way he wanted or expected at all. 

 

There’s no way that Oikawa doesn’t want to be with him, or live with him, or be taken care of by him. 

 

Is he really holding back on it because he wants to focus more on volleyball? 

 

Is it some misplaced sense of guilt? Iwaizumi doesn’t need that bullshit. He’ll support Oikawa when he can and Oikawa will do the same when he needs it.

 

This is going nowhere. Iwaizumi thinks in endless circles, arriving at no conclusions, already deeply regretting saying so many harsh things. Oikawa hadn’t even tried to argue with him, he’d only wanted Iwaizumi to listen. It’s just hard to hear that you’re not the most important in someone’s life, that’s all.

 

If Oikawa thinks it’d be better for them to live apart for a few more years, Iwaizumi can live with that. It won’t mean anything until Oikawa is really on board with it, anyway.

 

By the time he ends up back at Oikawa’s door, it’s closer to two hours than one. He’d lost track of time in a timeless daze. Iwaizumi silently steps back inside, absorbed by silence, the stillness of Oikawa’s small, clean apartment almost unbearable. 

 

On the table, the apartment layouts and rings remain where he left them, untouched.

 

Iwaizumi stands and stares at them for a long minute, willing strength back into his legs. He’s never felt such crushing defeat, not with their snuffed out dreams in their last year of high school, not with Shiratorizawa, not anything remotely close to this. He blinks back angry tears, swiping the rings off the table to stuff them deep into his pocket, noisily bumping into a chair.

 

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s voice calls softly from the bedroom, and then Iwaizumi is turning in surprise at the hurried thumps of Oikawa’s footsteps. 

 

Oikawa emerges from the hallway with the ugliest expression on his face, eyes round and watery, nose red from where he must’ve been rubbing at it with tissues. His hair’s everywhere and he’s got a laptop balanced precariously in one upturned hand, just a breathing mess of a person.

 

“Finally,” Oikawa says, forcing himself to smile. It’s far from real but the tension has left his face and his relief is palpable. Iwaizumi thought that Oikawa had left. “I was worried you’d fallen into the river.”

 

“There aren’t any rivers around your house, Idiotkawa. You’re wearing my hoodie.”

 

“Yes,” Oikawa says with no fuss. He rubs absentmindedly at one red-rimmed eye, undoubtedly making it swell even worse. “Anyway, I was waiting for you to get back so I could tell you how useless you are.” He rolls his eyes like he’s the most put-upon person, even though Iwaizumi is sure that title belongs to himself, hesitantly shuffling closer to show him his laptop. “I appreciate the plans you picked up and all, but Iwa-chan, we can’t just have one bedroom. We _will_ end up having guests, you know. And Makki definitely isn’t going to want to sleep on our bedroom floor, you know he’s picky about that stuff.”

 

Iwaizumi stares at him, speechless. He glances at the laptop screen, some exasperated, exhausted part of him laughing at the approximately five hundred tabs Oikawa has open in his browser.

 

“So I’ve narrowed our search down to three apartments these last few months, all two bedrooms, and I refuse to live anywhere without a nice bathroom, okay? I’d like a balcony--”

 

“Oikawa.”

 

“-and maybe we can get one that gets sun, because I’d like to grow some plants. Before you lecture me about--”

 

“Oikawa.”

 

“-not taking care of them, I know you...nngh...you’d take care of th- them.” Oikawa bites viciously on his lower lip, stubborn as he swallows past a fresh torrent of tears. “A-and I don’t care for t- ta- fuck! Tatami!” He takes a shuddering, hitching breath, swiping his arm across his eyes, only succeeding in smearing around the mess on his face. But he has to say this. He can’t let Iwaizumi ever think for a second that he isn’t Oikawa’s first and main consideration, even if volleyball is taking up more of his time. “I want hardwood floors so if you--”

 

“ _Tooru!_ ” Iwaizumi says, and he grabs Oikawa’s face, fingertips sinking into his wet, messy cheeks. “It’s okay, I get it. I’m sorry for earlier, I don’t want to force you into stuff you aren’t sure of.”

 

“You’re not,” Oikawa whispers, dropping his gaze to the front of Iwaizumi’s jacket. “I’m never unsure about you, I was only unsure if it was the right thing to do to move in together when I give you so little of my time. It seems unfair to you.”

 

“Tooru, just forget about that stuff. You can be honest with me. Do you want to live together?” Iwaizumi asks, for the final time.

 

“Of course I do,” Oikawa says, face crumpling even as he tries to frown. “Where did all your confidence go, Iwa-chan? Did you get abducted by aliens?”

 

“Fucking asshole,” Iwaizumi breathes, the ice in his belly finally starting to thaw. He laughs, wet and relieved, and he presses his face into Oikawa’s shoulder, grateful that Oikawa still has the humor to tease him for crying. “You made me give myself a heart attack.” He loops his arms around Oikawa’s waist, so overwhelmed with relief that he can barely stand. “Raincheck on looking at apartments until tomorrow?”

 

“Seconded,” Oikawa encourages, sniffling into his ear. He lets himself enjoy Iwaizumi’s hug for a few more minutes before his arm really starts to tremble, the laptop swaying dangerously in the air. Oikawa gently pulls away, grabbing Iwaizumi’s hand so they can lace their fingers together. He sets the laptop on the table, then pauses, frowning as he looks around it. 

 

Iwaizumi flushes with embarrassment. “You don’t have to worry about--”

 

“I’ll wear it for now,” Oikawa says quietly, turning back to Iwaizumi with his free hand outstretched.

 

“You don’t have to,” Iwaizumi says in return, still unsure. Oikawa had seemed so taken aback to see the rings.

 

“Stupid Iwa-chan,” Oikawa scolds, pouting. He looks so disappointed. “You didn’t even ask me romantically or anything.”

 

“I told you, it’s not like I’m asking you to marr--”

 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa interrupts him, and the conviction in his voice shuts Iwaizumi up. “I’ll wear it for now, okay?” He leans in to press a sweet kiss to Iwaizumi’s mouth, leaving salt and longing on his tongue. “Ask me properly next time. So don’t ever give me silver again when you know what I want is gold. ”

 

\---

 

2.

 

It’s only their second year of university and despite being in Tokyo together, despite talking literally every day, whether in short texts leading to a bombardment of stickers on LINE, or scraping some change together to have a hot bowl of ramen at whichever passable ramen place they find between their universities, Iwaizumi can’t help that he feels kind of lonely. 

 

He’s lost count of how many times he’s bolted out of Oikawa’s apartment to catch the last train back to his place. He can’t imagine how much money they both must’ve spent on transportation already, just to be able to meet up halfway in the city. And despite all that, it’s still not enough time with him.

 

He’s used to walking with Oikawa to and from school every single day and seeing him on most weekends, too. Miyagi had a much slower pace of life and despite having less to do, it was a lot more familiar and comfortable to go out and actually do them. 

 

At universities and residences on opposite sides of the city, it’s really hard to see Oikawa as much as he’d like. Not that he’d admit to it. Oikawa would tease him until he died, then tease him for dying at Iwaizumi’s pathetic funeral, then rope Hanamaki and Matsukawa into joining him.

 

Incensed at the mere thought, Iwaizumi slams his chopsticks down beside his empty bowl of ramen, sweating from slurping it all down so quickly. Oikawa shoots him a bored look, fanning himself. 

 

“You’re treating,” Iwaizumi tells him, unbothered by Oikawa’s familiar high-pitched whine.

 

Still, Oikawa pulls out his wallet, rifling through it helplessly. “Dating you is getting expensive,” he complains, not meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes. “Why do you have to live so far away in dorms, can’t you just get your own place closer to my place?”

 

“Where would that place be that I could magically afford, Shittykawa? Not all of us have magazine spreads to rely on for spare income.”

 

“Well, I mean, you could, if you wanted to,” Oikawa mumbles, hunching more in his seat, turning his face away so Iwaizumi can’t see it burn. “You- you could stay over at my place sometimes and stuff. I know it’s farther for you to get to class but admit it, Iwa-chan, you totally miss having me to stare at and worship at night.” He steadfastly stares up at the ceiling or menu or far wall, anywhere but Iwaizumi’s face as his spine straightens with courage. I won’t even mind it if you want--”

 

“Oi, what are you--”

 

“-to cuddle me in bed since you’re such a needy virgin and I’m kind enough to endure it for your sake.”

 

Iwaizumi stares at him, not sure whether or not to take him seriously. Oikawa is staring at the giant ramen menu mounted on the far side of the restaurant, but his face is curiously red, a weird twist to his mouth like he can’t believe he just said that. A lot of shit spews forth from that mouth, especially when he’s embarrassed. Too much detail no one asked for. Too many outs, hedging his bets.

 

“You better have a change of clothes for me tonight then, because I have nothing on me,” Iwaizumi says gruffly. Oikawa’s eyes snap to him, and his face is expressionless for a moment before he lights up, just glows through a beaming smile, and Iwaizumi grumpily turns back to his ramen bowl. Stupid Oikawa with his pretty smile. 

 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa coos, “did you really miss me so much? I know it’s hard dating someone as busy as me--”

 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, cutting him off. Enough. Enough with the uncertain requests for reassurance, enough with half-hearted steps forward, enough with trying to tell themselves it’d be okay to one day not be together. He reaches out before Oikawa can react and grabs his shoulder, taking in the shock and embarrassment on Oikawa’s face. “It’s not hard to date you,” he tells him plainly, “it’s only hard being away. I don’t like being so far away from you even if we talk all the time.”

 

Oikawa blinks at him, slack-jawed, in disbelief, bursting into a frenzy of exclamation and fidgeting when Iwaizumi cracks a smile and tugs on a lock of his hair. He buries his face in his hands as he swivels to face his ramen dead-on, refusing to even look in Iwaizumi’s direction. 

 

Fucking cute, Iwaizumi thinks. Even his ears have gone red, a universally understood flush creeping down the back of his neck.

 

“So we’re dating,” Oikawa says into his palms, inflection rising upward, but it’s not quite a question, either. “We’re dating,” he states again immediately after, almost like a reminder to Iwaizumi even though Oikawa’s the one that looks like his face is about to combust into flames. 

 

“What else would you call this, Shittykawa? You think I’d go this far out of my way every day just for anybody?”

 

“Why can’t you even confess your feelings for me like a nice guy, Iwa-chan? This is why you’re not popular with girls.”

 

“Yeah, well. Apparently, I only need to be popular with you.”

 

“I’ll murder you in your sleep if you ever even look at anyone else.”

 

“Oh my god Oikawa, there are limits to shittiness, you know??”

 

“Iwa-chan, I swear, I will _murder_ you if- Iwa-chan!! You can’t hit me anymore or it’ll be considered domestic violence! What, you want to look at other people that bad?”

 

“Asshole, what the fuck! You’re the only one of the two of us that even thinks about other people! You’re obviously the only person I think about! You are so full of shit, I definitely should’ve fallen for someone not so full of shit.”

 

“...Iwa-chan!!”

 

“What do you- are you _crying?_ ”

 

“Iwa-chan!!”

 

“Get off of me! Have some control in public!”

 

“This is your fault!! I’m full of overflowing emotion!”

 

“You’re certainly full of something!!”

 

“If you boys are _finished,_ ” the restaurant manager says, smiling at them through grit teeth at the ruckus. 

 

Iwaizumi ends up paying for ramen after all because he thinks Oikawa is frustratingly cute and he likes it when Oikawa beams at him. He really does follow Oikawa home to sleep over, still a bit awkward about finding his place in this Tokyo apartment, much narrower and more stylish than Oikawa’s bedroom back in Miyagi. 

 

“We should probably just find a central location and live together eventually,” Oikawa proposes, when they’re both lying on their backs in bed, staring up at Oikawa’s ceiling. There’s a thump from upstairs. “We’ll have to do some investigating to make sure we have good neighbors, though.”

 

“Maybe after we graduate,” Iwaizumi says. He frowns at himself immediately, wondering how he gets so carried along with Oikawa’s plans like that. “Anyway, we can think about it later. There’s only a year left until the Olympics, you should focus on that for now.”

 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. The weight training is draining my soul from my body.”

 

“You’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi reassures, turning onto his side. To his surprise, Oikawa is already looking at him, and they both blush at their new proximity, unused to it. Dating by all meaning of the word isn’t new to them, but the physical intimacy certainly is. “I believe in you, Oikawa. We all do.”

 

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says eventually, voice soft but eyes glinting with something much more dangerous. He inches his hand over between them, reaching out to gently press a fingertip to the plump middle of Iwaizumi’s lower lip. “Don’t you think it’s about time you kissed me?”

 

\---

 

1.

 

“Damn, Iwaizumi has got it going on,” Hanamaki says under his breath, letting out a low whistle. Oikawa wants to punch him for it, first for making him think that Iwaizumi has anything going on, and second for reminding him what’s taking place in the hallway. 

 

“He, in fact, has nothing going on,” Oikawa says primly, “he’s just a dumb brute who wouldn’t know tact if it hit him in the face.”

 

“He seems to know tact right now,” Hanamaki points out, grinning at him knowingly. Oooh, urge to punch, definitely rising. 

 

Oikawa narrows his eyes before whipping them towards the classroom windows, expecting nothing but Iwaizumi’s stupid, embarrassed face and the too-late regret of having made a bad choice on Ayaka’s. It’s not often that Iwaizumi gets called out into the hallway for a confession, and certainly not half as often as Oikawa, but it unsettles him that it’s been increasing in frequency ever since they started their last year of high school. 

 

Well, it doesn’t matter. Iwaizumi will say no. He’ll have a dumb, guilty smile on his face, and Ayaka will be frowning, and Oikawa will make fun of him for getting confessed to in the middle of lunch. He’s so prepared for it that he almost doesn’t recognize what he actually sees. 

 

Iwaizumi’s smile is too gentle, and sweet, and somehow knowing. Ayaka looks mortified but she’s staring up at him--Iwaizumi really is quite tall, even though Oikawa likes to rib on him since he’s taller--and the adoration is so obvious on her face. Something long, hollow, and very cold opens up in his stomach. Could Iwaizumi have said _yes?_

 

“Hey, you okay?” Hanamaki asks, staring at him. Oikawa turns to him, wanting to say something witty or deflective, but the serious concern on Hanamaki’s face kills the words right in his throat. 

 

What kind of face was he making? How is it possible that the older he gets, the harder it gets to hide how he feels?

 

“You know...” Hanamaki says awkwardly, eyes shifting back to Iwaizumi bowing repeatedly outside, “Iwaizumi’s a pretty good dude.”

 

“I know that,” Oikawa says, boggling at him for the random comment.

 

“Well, you know.” Hanamaki makes a gesture with his hands that Oikawa doesn’t understand. “I just mean, especially if you guys actually go to Tokyo together...there will be a lot more people who think he’s a pretty good dude.”

 

Ah. Oikawa’s face flushes with embarrassment, understanding finally reaching him. It’s not a well-guarded secret that he and Iwaizumi are kind of...affectionate with each other, but it’s still really awkward to have one of his best friends play matchmaker between them. Quite frankly, Oikawa is content to die a slow death without ever talking about his overabundance of inconvenient emotions for his best friend.

 

“Oikawa,” Hanamaki says, resolutely pounding his fist on the table, making Oikawa jump. His chopsticks clatter off onto the floor. “Do you like Beyonce?”

 

“What…??” Oikawa asks, narrowing his eyes at him. Has Hanamaki totally lost it?

 

“You know what she said, right? If you really like it, you should put a ring on it.”

 

“Listen friend, I only say this because I care about you, but you need to seek help. And probably extra cram school for English.”

 

“Can I be Iwaizumi’s best man instead? You seem like you’d be naggy.”

 

“Super, super not invited to our wedding,” Oikawa informs, pouting at him.

 

“Matsukawa would do it for you though,” Hanamaki continues, unfazed, “he doesn’t listen most of the time when you talk, which is probably the best state of mind for anyone to be in.”

 

“Wow, you are so uninvited that I’m going to hand you an invitation card just to take it back.”

 

“Will your wedding have an open bar?”

 

“Wedding for what?” Iwaizumi asks, smoothly sliding back into his seat at Oikawa’s side. “What are you guys talking about?”

 

Oikawa sighs, bending down to pick up his dirty chopsticks from the floor. He abandons lunch in favor of draping himself across Iwaizumi’s back, chin rested on his shoulder. Hanamaki arches an eyebrow at him for the obvious display.

 

Oikawa had hoped that exposure would be inoculation. Touch him, be near him, delight in his attention; maybe that’ll ease some of the overwhelming need to touch, to be near, to be at the focus of all of Iwaizumi’s attention. How _stupid._ Add fuel to the fire, that’ll help, said no one ever.

 

“What did you say to Ayaka-chan?” Oikawa asks, unable to talk around the issue. 

 

Iwaizumi shrugs, but only the shoulder that Oikawa’s chin isn’t resting on. “Too busy with volleyball to date.”

 

“Volleyball,” Hanamaki repeats, voice flat and amused. Oikawa shoots him a glare. “Well, I guess that isn’t a lie.” Oikawa is their captain, after all.

 

“Hey Iwa-chan, do you ever think about getting married?” he asks suddenly, ignoring the way Hanamaki chokes on his food. Serves him right.

 

“We’re seventeen, Shittykawa. Why are you thinking about getting married?”

 

“I don’t know, just wondering,” Oikawa says. He sticks his left hand out, staring at his ring finger in curiosity. “I want a gold ring to go with all the gold medals I’m gonna win. The tabloids are gonna eat up my impeccable taste in coordinating outfits.”

 

“Who’d be crazy enough to marry you?”

 

“I dunno, you’re pretty crazy,” Hanamaki points out, and Oikawa grins at him.

 

\---

 

5+

 

Oikawa’s phone buzzes on the dining table and Iwaizumi pops his head up despite Oikawa’s rather convincing insistence that he stay on the floor with him. “It might be important,” he says, ignoring the way Oikawa whines at him, making a point of not looking at Oikawa’s bare thighs because he knows for a fact he would lose that argument immediately.

 

“Oh fine, who is it?” Oikawa asks moodily, picking himself up off the floor to follow. He lazily reads the revised training schedule that Kageyama brought for him, groaning to see how many weight training sessions there are. 

 

Iwaizumi reads the text on Oikawa’s phone, then starts to laugh. “Your favorite disciple wants to know if he can visit us another day to look at your medal.”

 

They both glance over at the display case in the living room, home to a surprisingly heavy, shining gold medal. Almost instinctively, Oikawa reaches for his left hand to twist the band around his ring finger.

 

“I guess he can come if he really wants to,” he concludes, trying to hide how proud he is. Iwaizumi smiles at him and gathers him into his chest for a sweet kiss. “Seeing the real thing will give him more motivation to play.”

 

“I don’t think Kageyama’s the kind of kid who needs external motivation to play volleyball,” Iwaizumi points out.

 

“Okay, well, there’s only one more year until the next Olympics so he needs to get fired up.”

 

“You’re plenty fired up for the whole team.”

 

“Iwa-chan, I’m the captain! I have to be, and besides, don’t you think another gold medal would look nice next to the first one? That one was at twenty-four, so the next one next year, and maybe the third at thirty-two...”

 

“And then?” Iwaizumi teases, poking him in the cheek.

 

“Mm, I don’t know,” Oikawa says, blushing as he starts looking elsewhere. “I was thinking I might retire after that.”

 

Iwaizumi stares at him. Somehow, Iwaizumi has never really imagined him doing anything else. “Wait...are you serious? Tooru.”

 

Oikawa pouts, blushing even harder, definitely refusing to look at his face. “What? There’s other stuff in the world to do besides volleyball. And maybe I want to spend a lot more time with you, okay?”

 

Iwaizumi laughs, delighted, pressing their cheeks together. It doesn’t really matter. He has Oikawa and that’s plenty. 

 

Oikawa’s hand ends up tangled in his hair and Iwaizumi holds onto him tight, slowly swaying with him in the quiet warmth of their home. 

 

\---

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this burst forth from the abyss like a deranged fever dream. i apologize for the melodrama it kind of devolved into in the middle. maybe i'm feeling angsty lately hahah ha h ha. damn i just ship them so hard. hopefully the timeline isn't too confusing; as i'm sure you noticed, this goes in reverse chronology, but i did my best to also make it read sensibly if you want to read it backwards. 
> 
> there was a campaign in family mart where if you buy 2 boxes of participating chocolates/cookies, you can get 1 haikyuu promo item. so now i have a useless 15cm plastic ruler with iwaoi on it because i really am the kind of garbage that advertising companies like to market to G D I
> 
> as always, please come scream about iwaoi with me on twitter [@yuxisushi](https://twitter.com/yuxisushi) :)


End file.
